


Asking For Help

by thunderlilly



Category: DCU
Genre: Gen, and Jason's weak spot for helping children, dadshot, good dad!Deadshot, heh, mentions of child kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderlilly/pseuds/thunderlilly
Summary: Deadshot's daughter gets kidnapped and he turns to the Red Hood for help, because of Reasons.





	Asking For Help

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just to test if I can write a third person POV that is a little less aloof...  
> Never mind the huge pothole that is basically the whole story.

The moment Jason landed the first hit square in Deadshot’s jaw he knew something was wrong. More than one thing, to be honest.

The first thing was, of course, that Deadshot was currently sprawled out all over his bedroom floor, rubbing his jaw and glaring up at him balefully.

The second thing was that he hadn’t even tried to dodge the blow that he’d have to have seen coming a mile wide. Had, in fact, made no move to retaliate in any way, just gone with it and fallen backwards like a freaking corpse.

Even more concerning was the fact that he wasn’t making any sign of getting up either, only shifted into a more comfortable, though still uncharacteristically vulnerable position on the floor to Jason’s feet, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting the weight of his torso on his elbows behind him.

“Deadshot,” Jason said, training the gun he’d fished out from under his pillow to sock Deadshot straight in the face with it and knocked him directly on his stupid-ass butt. “What the fuck?”

When it didn’t seem as if the other man was going to explain himself anytime soon Jason visibly tightened his pointer finger over the trigger.

Silently weighting the pros and cons of just shooting the guy and getting the fuck back to sleep he tried again, a little louder this time, “Hey, asswipe!”

Still, Deadshot stayed silent and Jason let out a frustrated noise through his nose. If this was a ploy to catch him off guard he’d fucking shoot the bastard in the nuts and then break his motherfucking face, because this was just fucking ridiculous, even for his standards. And how did fucking Deadshot even know where Jason was currently staying at, anyway?

He swore quietly under his breath before he finally took a step towards the man still lying on his floor and kicked his ankle, hard, right on the bone. “Hey,” he barked, “How did you know where to find me? What do you wa-“ 

Deadshot interrupted him right before he could finish his question and Jason would have almost just shot him on principle, if his next words hadn’t sparked a shiver to run down his spine.

“They’ve got my daughter,” rasped Deadshot, eyes glassy and vacant behind his mask.

Taking a deliberately deep breath, Jason clasped the gun tighter in his hands and shook his head slowly.

“And that leads you here because,” he prompted when nothing more was coming forth. Deadshot just stared at him like the creeper he was.

“They’ve got my daughter,” he repeated, shoulders tense but head lolling aimlessly from side to side. 

Suddenly, he sat up straight and Jason repressed his automatic impulse to flinch backwards, standing his ground and cocking his gun in an obvious threat. Deadshot, the suicidal ass, ignored him.

“That didn’t answer my question,” he said, cautiously, although he could already feel the trepidation rise in his stomach. He knew why Deadshot was here, alright, had an educated guess, at least. What he didn’t know was, why he was seeking out Jason, specifically.

Deadshot was still staring at him blankly.

Jason stared right back.

Like fuck was he going to offer his help to the murdering maniac that had tried to kill him on more occasions than he could count on both his hands. Feet, too, probably, now that he was thinking about it.

Nevermind that that same sentence could more than possibly (likely had been) applied to Jason as well.

Deadshot kept stubbornly quiet and Jason could feel himself getting angry again, repressing the urge to shoot him in the face.

“You should have gone to Batman,” he said instead. “He would deliver you to Arkham after helping you, not blast your ass to hell.”

At that, Deadshot snorted derisively and Jason clenched his teeth. Christ the nerve of that man.

“You won’t kill me,” he said, and, again, Jason had to suppress the desire to pull the trigger just to prove him wrong.

“Don’t count on it,” he hissed, but Deadshot had already resumed talking.

“You will help me?” He asked and Jason ground his teeth together.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you kind of did.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it then.” 

Deadshot just looked at him calmly, and even Jason could hear the lie in his own words. Damn that man for using his soft spot for children. 

“Why are you asking me for help, and not Batman,” he asked, trying to calm the rage already seething in his stomach. If it was for a little girl, afraid, or Deadshot’s audacity, he couldn’t tell. 

The rage gleamed right back out of Deadshot’s eyes.

“He wouldn’t do it as a favor.”

At his words Deadshot’s shoulders slumped almost invisibly and his eyes flitted away from Jason’s for just a second.

Jason sighed and lowered his gun.

“You went on a rampage, didn’t you?” He asked and if he hadn’t already known the answer to that, the other’s silence would have been telling enough. 

“Idiot.”

“They’ve got my daughter.”

“Yes,” Jason snapped, now more annoyed than angry. “I got that, thank you.”

He hesitated for just a second watching Deadshot’s listless form quietly, taking in his defeated sprawl, his tense muscles and the quiet, unholy wrath in his eyes. The hidden plea. This, he decided, was definitively not a trap. 

Would’ve been highly unlikely anyway.

He holstered his gun and kicked Deadshot’s ankle again.

“Get up,” he said and turned around towards the kitchen, he needed a fucking coffee, or maybe five, and his guns would need some cleaning before he would be able to point them at the stupid motherfuckers who had been dumb enough to kidnapp the daughter of one of the deadliest assassins in the world.

“C’mon, we need a plan and some goddamn food,” he threw over his shoulder, stepping over the other man easily.

The split second of pure gratitude shining in the mercenary’s eyes made Jason shift uncomfortably in his hoodie and he quickened his steps, grumbling under his breath.

“Don’t think you’ll get any of my coffee, though.”

The soft, relieved chuckle followed him all the way to the kitchen.


End file.
